


City Boys

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cows, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: There was a cow standing on the green.It was big. Too big, in Vimes’ opinion – an animal didn’t have any right being that big, with its huge, stupid eyes and its broad nose and its funny, lumpy shoulders, its gently sweeping little tail.





	City Boys

Drumknott, Vimes mused, was like him.

Not in terms of his personality, of course: Drumknott was fastidious, particular, and just plain  _odd_ ; he had passions unknown and deep-running, and doubtless contained boundless depths of expertise that could each bore Vimes to death within a few minutes of conversation; he wasn’t much like Vimes  _physically_ , either, except that he was short, but Vimes’ shortness was the shortness of a boy grown in the Shades, on not enough food. Drumknott’s was just unfortunate family graces – it certainly wasn’t for lack of  _food_. He’d been a grocer’s son, after all, and no matter what a bastard the grocer in question was, he’d been well-fed.

No, they didn’t share  _that_ much in common, but in this instance…

In this instance, they were the same stock: they were both city boys, comfortable even on rough streets, but not out here, under skies that were admittedly more grey than blue, and grass that was, reluctantly, a dark shade of green.

There was a cow standing on the green.

It was  _big_. Too big, in Vimes’ opinion – an animal didn’t have any right being that big, with its huge, stupid eyes and its broad nose and its funny, lumpy shoulders, its gently sweeping little tail.

Drumknott was standing in the stance Vimes usually associated with being ready for a fight – he’d only seen Drumknott in that pose once or twice before, and he’d either been spattered with blood already, or about to be.

Now, he seemed ready to run.

“Be nice,” Drumknott was saying, shaking his head even as he took a slow, uncertain step forward, one hand outstretched. The cow looked at it from gently brown eyes, quietly inquisitive in that way that, Vimes was told, cows had. “Be— Agh—!”

The cow had taken a step forward, and Drumknott’s yelp carried over the meadow, to where Vimes was leaning on the fence, smoking a cigar. Behind him, he could hear them fixing the cart.

“It’s fine,” Vetinari said, coming up behind his clerk and letting Drumknott’s back fall back against his chest. The Patrician wasn’t a city boy. He’d been raised in the city, that much was true – until he was seven or eight, so people said on the street – but he’d  _grown up_  on rolling hills, in forests, running across meadows like this one. He was used to the country, as much as he was to Ankh-Morpork.

Even from here, Vimes could see the indulgent smile on his face as his hand alighted on Drumknott’s shoulder and let him brace himself against his chest, much more contact than he would have allowed for, if they were within Ankh-Morpork, or even if they were still on the Sto Plains.

“It’s  _not_  fine,” Drumknott hissed. “It’s dangerous—”

“She’s not dangerous, Drumknott, she just doesn’t know what you’re playing at.”

“They can trample—”

“She’s one cow, she isn’t going to trample you,” Vetinari said, with impatience made heavy with warm indulgence, and Vimes watched the way his fingers settled on Drumknott’s wrist, drawing his hand forward and setting it on the centre of the cow’s face.

Drumknott hesitated, but then he leaned forward just slightly, away from the Patrician’s body.

Vimes couldn’t help but grin as he saw the little smile pass across the clerk’s face. He liked animals, did Drumknott, and animals liked him – the dragons thought him very much a friendly face, and sometimes, if he wasn’t in a hurry as he moved through the city, some of the Watchmen said he’d stop to pet cats.

“She’s soft,” Drumknott said, and Vimes heard Vetinari’s laugh. The sound was rich and quiet, warm on the air, like cocoa. Drumknott took a step forward, and this time, when the cow stepped forward to meet him, he didn’t flinch, and simply brought up a second hand to better pet the cow’s head.

Vetinari’s hand slid down from Drumknott’s shoulder, down toward his back before he pulled it away entirely, and stepped to the side, so that he could pat the cow’s side. “I told you,” he said, and he turned to look at Vimes.

Vimes glanced back to the coach, and then he held up three fingers.  _Three more minutes, sir. Won’t say a thing about you and your clerk, sir. Wouldn’t never._

Vetinari arched an eyebrow.

Vimes shrugged his shoulders, and grinned.

Vetinari gave a curt nod, and Vimes heard him talking about dairy cows, his gaze turning back to Drumknott. It was farm talk, country stuff he wasn’t meant to understand and didn’t care to, and it went over his head, but Drumknott was listening intently even as he scratched the cow’s ears and stroked the sides of her neck.

He thought of Young Sam’s book, and he turned back to the cart. “Oi, Cadwell,” he said. “You got your iconograph?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


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